


The Ballad of East and West

by aliveanddrunkonsunlight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Related, F/M, Minor Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Pining, miscarriage (mention), quality angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24613942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliveanddrunkonsunlight/pseuds/aliveanddrunkonsunlight
Summary: Jaime and Brienne meet several times after the confrontation with Lady Stoneheart, slowly revealing what happened between them.“When do you go? You’ve never gotten to see Tarth.” He glances over at her, studying her profile. The jut of her chin and firmness of her brow are softened by her blonde eyelashes and the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Unspoken words hang between them. The things they never said years ago, the ones their duty and honor bar them from saying now.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 45
Kudos: 147





	The Ballad of East and West

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: There is a brief reference/mention of miscarriage, but nothing graphic.
> 
> The events of this fic take place over about a 15-17 year period. By the end of the story, I imagined Jaime in his early 50s and Brienne close to 40. 
> 
> This fic is inspired by PrettyThief's All My Days. Please go read it if you haven't already. Thank you to my lovely beta lewispanda who always asks me the right questions.

_Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet._ \--Rudyard Kipling, “Barrack-room ballads”

*

When Jaime hears about the Evenstar’s death, he fears it is too late to travel for Lord Selwyn’s wake, but knows he has to try. The same morning the raven arrives, he departs. He has not traveled across the kingdom in many years, but he has no time for scenery.

He has not seen Brienne since he left the Riverlands, only heard of her whereabouts from others. 

Jaime finds them in the sept, heads turning as the large oaken doors creak open. The room is choked with death, the same scent he could not get out of his nostrils after standing vigil by his own father’s body. He walks quickly towards them, his eyes flickering over a man with dark hair, before he meets Brienne’s blue gaze. Her mouth drops in surprise. “ _Jaime_.” 

His name on her lips brings his heart comfort. “I came as quick as I could.” Tears pool in her eyes and he longs to pull her into an embrace, but he meets the dark haired man’s steely gray eyes behind her, and instead bows, placing a quick kiss on her hand. “My lady.” 

The astonished look remains on Brienne’s face when he rises. For a moment, Jaime is afraid his coming here was not the right decision to make, but then watches as she transforms from the woman who could utter his name with such reverence to the woman who escorted him across the Seven Kingdoms. Manners and formality provide them a mask which can be worn in front of others. Jaime follows her lead, stepping forward to meet the septon, her cousins (Jaime did not know she had any living relatives other than her father), and lastly, her husband. “Ser Ethan Glover, this is Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock.” 

He is distracted by the way Brienne’s eyes lighten as she announces his title, but says, “Well met, ser.” Jaime’s gaze meets the man’s, giving him a curt nod. 

“And you as well.” 

Brienne looks between them, before stepping beside her lord husband. Jaime steps towards her cousins, taking his place in the semi-circle around the body of Lord Selwyn. Visitors trickle in and out all afternoon. He tries not to watch her, instead surveying the parts of the sept he can see or observing the townsfolk who come to pay their respects, but despite his resistance, his gaze lands on her. He is unable to chase away the torturous thoughts. Imagines himself standing beside her, imagines how he would hold her grief, imagines what would have happened if he had made a different choice. 

Stepping out of the sept at dusk, Brienne asks him if he wishes to stretch his legs. “I shall show you my favorite walking path, my lord.” When they are far enough away from the others, she murmurs, “I did not expect you to come.” 

“I came to pay my respects to your father. I do not wish to be a burden.” 

“You are not a burden.” She places her hand on his elbow in an attempt to reach him, her voice soft. “Your appearance was unexpected. That is all I meant.” Perhaps this is who they are now, miscommunication and hurt feelings and talking around the things they truly wish to say. He has no one to blame other than himself. 

Evenfall is beautiful, a towering gray stone, ivy and moss running up its walls. It blends into the landscape, strong and quiet, much like Brienne. Casterly Rock is bright and blinding, the sunlight glinting gold as it reflects off its walls, the complete opposite. Birdsong fills the air and Brienne leads them into a copse of trees, not going far before reaching a clearing where thick grass grows under foot and wildflowers bloom. “My father liked to come here when he needed to get away from his counsel and think. I preferred to spend my time in the training yard, but now I find myself visiting often.” 

Jaime knows of Brienne’s great respect for her father. He wishes he could ask all the questions populating his mind, but instead he offers, “I am here. For advice, for whatever you need. Not that you need my help, but if you ever want a friendly ear, know you have mine.”

“Thank you,” she replies, a gratefulness in her voice. 

“Is your lord husband of the Northern Glovers?” he changes the topic.

“Yes. We met at Winterfell.” 

“He seems pleasant enough. Is he kind to you?” 

Her cheeks flush a soft pink. “Jaime,” she warns, but there is a small smile pulling at her lips. 

“Did you wed here or in the North?” 

“The North. I do not think my father was too pleased by that decision, but it was in the midst of the North’s bid for independence. We could not leave.” Brienne glances at him. “You knew all of that, didn’t you?” 

“Perhaps,” he answers with a roguish grin. “Lady Sansa writes to me.” He broaches the next topic cautiously. “She also told me you were with child.” 

“I was, but…” Quiet falls over Brienne. He doesn’t have the right to that part of her life anymore, if he ever did, but his heart aches for her all the same. It takes her a few steps to realize he is not beside her anymore and she turns back. At the sept, he watched her be strong for everyone else, diplomatic as she accepted their condolences. Her duty came first and masked her true feelings, but now the obligation and manners fall away. She stands, cloaked in sorrow.

He exhales, knowing the blows life has dealt her. She has experienced pain and loss. He wishes happiness for her. Peace. “I am sorry, Brienne. That was unfeeling of me.” 

“No, you didn’t know.” She gives a slight shake of her head. “I am not meant to be a mother.” There is conviction in her voice, the stubbornness he knows too well. Any other day and he might let her believe the lies she tells herself, but not today. (He never would have let her believe them. There was a time when he would have wheedled those reasons out of her and soothed them away by tracing her frown lines with his fingertips.) 

“You are as good as one to Pod. And the Stark girls, both.” 

“Jaime…” She looks at him with watery eyes. “I do not know how to do this.” He does not hesitate to embrace her this time, pulling her into him, willing himself to forget how she used to tuck her chin to her chest, wanting to fit with him, but fearing her height would not let her. She always fit. Still does.

“Yes, you do. I’ve seen it,” he murmurs in her ear and she nods, even as she stifles her sobs against his jerkin. He strokes her back until she has collected herself and surprises him by pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you.” The skin where her lips were feels as if it was seared by her touch. 

“I am proud of you, Lady Evenstar of Tarth.” Tears well up in her eyes again, but she blinks them back, wiping her scarred cheek with her right hand.

“Please, tell me you will stay, for a little while.” 

His throat bobs and jaw clenches. Jaime would like nothing more, but she has a whole island to concern herself with, a household staff, a waiting husband. It is not his place. 

“You can’t,” she states. 

He shakes his head. “I should get back.”

“When do you go? You’ve never gotten to see Tarth.” He glances over at her, studying her profile. The jut of her chin and firmness of her brow are softened by her blonde eyelashes and the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Unspoken words hang between them. The things they never said years ago, the ones their duty and honor bar them from saying now. “Find me before you depart.” 

“Of course, my lady.” 

“Jaime,” she lets out an exasperated breath at his teasing formality, but the corner of her mouth pricks up into a smile. 

“Or now do you prefer Lady Evenstar?” He is glad for the smile on her face, the light in her eyes. It’s why he came, to provide her some small comfort when things are hard. 

*

He carries her body to the boat. Pod is crying, but glances back to make sure Jaime is following. The other man, Hyle, suggested they take her to one of the nearby towns: Maidenpool or Saltpans, but Jaime is wary of what friends or foes might be waiting in either. The Quiet Isle is the best place for her. Brienne murmurs something in the boat, but he cannot hear her, only clasps her hand tight in his.

Surely the brothers recognize him, but he is so plagued with worry, he does not remember what he says to them to allow him to stay with her. The boy wakes with nightmares and Jaime soothes him the best he can, a thing he was never allowed to do with his own children. The next day, when the brothers come to wash her wounds, Jaime sees the gaping slash across her belly and wonders if her blue eyes will ever blink open again. 

A scream splits through the night, rousing him. Brienne thrashes and yells, “No! Please no.” When he takes her hand, her whole body is burning with fever, and he tells Pod to fetch one of the brothers. 

“I’m here. Brienne, you’re safe.” He keeps speaking to her, calmly as he can manage, coaxing her out of the nightmare. 

She whimpers, possibly still half asleep, but a whisper passes her lips, “Jaime.” 

*

The morning light is bright, shining on her hair and turning it to spun gold. She wears it longer now, but still it does not reach the tops of her shoulders. He yearns to run his fingers through it, let his thumb whisper across the angry marring on her cheek and press his lips to the spot along her neck which he knows makes her sigh. Jaime swallows all of these desires, his eyes concentrating on the horizon, his hands clasping behind his back.

“Tarth is beautiful.” After he rescued Tommen, but was forced into hiding, he often used to dream of a place such as this. Somewhere green and near the sea. Somewhere he could roam uninhibited. 

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “It’s home, but it feels different now. Removed.” Jaime is unsure whether she’s referring to the physical miles or the emotional distance. He is surrounded by others at Casterly Rock often, some days yearning for a moment of peace, in others feeling achingly lonely. As Evenstar, she stands alone, the only ones who know what it is like to hold the title, the honor, the responsibility, are the ones gone before her. “How is Casterly Rock?”

She is not asking after the Rock, he knows, nor the Westerlands. “Pod is very well. He enjoys the sea air. He would be at home here, too. I did try to convince him to come.” 

“I am glad for him. It always brought me comfort to know he was with you.” Brienne sighs, hands clasping at her waist, before dropping them to her sides. “I worry about you.” 

“You needn’t worry. I am content with things as they are,” his reply is quiet. “They are more than I ever thought I would have.” He never felt it right to take a wife, to have another woman raise his son. 

She reaches for his hand and gives it a squeeze. They say little for the rest of their walk. It is the simplicity of knowing one another as no one else can, a bond forged in the Riverlands and cemented near Pennytree. 

Jaime listens to the whisper of the wind through the trees. The smell of the sea is different than at the Rock. Cleaner, the scent mixing together with the pines of Tarth’s forests. 

When it is time to go, Brienne escorts him to the docks. They stand inches apart, watching as the crew prepares the ship to unmoor. The sun and moon of Tarth’s sigil is sewn onto the left side of her tunic, directly over her heart. 

He cannot bring himself to look in her eyes, afraid of what he will find there. “You will do well by your father.” He brushes his fingers across hers. “You always have.” He glances up at her then. There is the same look in her eyes as when she rode away from King’s Landing, Oathkeeper at her hip, to find the Stark girls. A gratefulness, but also a melancholy haunting her features. They do not know if they will see each other again. Each time they have parted, it has been the same. Just once he would like to know he would return to her or she to him. “Come visit our shores, Lady Evenstar.”

“Perhaps I will,” she swallows, forcing a half crooked smile. He turns to go, but she reaches for his hand. Jaime glances back at her, unspoken understanding passing between them, and steps towards the ship. Their arms are outstretched towards each other before their grip breaks, and they are separate and alone again. 

*

The raven arrives with the invitation to the wedding. There is no political purpose for attending, no alliance to be formed there, but it has been nearly a decade since Jaime showed up in the sept to mourn her father, a man he had never met. Her husband has no desire to travel to the Westerlands and Brienne wonders if there is a rationale, beyond seeing Jaime’s face again. She never told anyone what occurred in the Riverlands fifteen years ago. 

*

They leave the Quiet Isle in the dead of night. Jaime settles them in a small cottage on the outskirts of Wickenden. The next afternoon, when she wakes, she watches him crouched by the fire, stoking the flames. “This seems a strange place to rest.” Her voice is thick from sleep. “Would it not have made more sense to return to the Crossroads and travel to the Eyrie? Sansa must be in the Vale.” 

“You’ve scarcely recovered.”

“I made a promise to…” she falters, unable to think of the woman she once knew without Lady Stoneheart’s wheezing, hissing voice echoing in her ears. Tears prick her eyes at the realization of all she has done. She swore to protect Lady Catelyn, but had killed her instead, forsaking her vow for the man beside her. 

“So did I. One which I failed to keep.”. His words are simple but they remind her of what she has chosen. She chose to save Pod and Hyle’s lives, forgive Jaime’s deeds, believe in redemption, and not lose her faith. Brienne still believes Sansa to be alive and she will be the one to find her. 

“There is still time. We can search for her together.” Jaime turns to look at her. During the long weeks on the Quiet Isle, she noticed how his expression has changed when he looked at her, but she was still recovering, her mind foggy, and it was easy to brush away feelings she could not comprehend. But now she can no longer deny it. His eyes betray a deep affection, causing her to go still, the familiar creep of blush starting up the back of her neck. “You must eat first,” he says easily. There are oats and honey. A few plums, which they divide between them. Smoked meat, which has grown even tougher during their travels. Brienne has no appetite, but Jaime is watching her cautiously, so she eats a little of everything before pushing back from the table. 

“Maybe I should go into the village and ask if anyone has seen her.” 

He lets out a sigh. “You cannot. They are looking for us.” 

“They?” she frowns. 

“I left the Lannister troops in Pennytree.” She feels a fool for asking. Of course Jaime would be missed. “My sister…” he stammers. “Someone must have told her.” Her stomach churns, certain she is going to lose her breakfast. “She believes I betrayed her. There is a price to bring us in alive.” 

“You did not have to stay with me all those weeks.” Her voice is defensive, even though he is not to blame. “You could have returned to her.” 

Jaime gives her a strange look, as if she wasn’t making any sense. “No, I--are you really so foolish to believe that is what I want? That she is what I want?” He stands and comes to kneel beside her. “I chose to stay, Brienne.” His green eyes soften and tentatively, he touches her wrist. 

Her eyes flutter closed for a moment. “I did not ask you to.” 

“No,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking gently across her palm. “And you never would. But it’s what I choose. You.” A long moment stretches between them, one in which she cannot draw breath. “Brienne?” he says gently, and then she is on her feet, Jaime rising with her, his mouth warm on hers, and her hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as she draws him closer. 

*

Jaime still carries himself with the posture of a soldier, but it is nearly all she recognizes of him. 

His hair is more grey than blond, a silver thread running through the beard he has grown. There are wrinkles around his eyes and lines deepening around his mouth, but when he smiles upon seeing her, there is the man she knew once. Brienne recalls learning about the Lannister family history as a child. One of Jaime’s ancestors was called The Grey Lion, a description which would suit him now. “An honor, Lady Evenstar.” He bows, taking her hand in his to press a chaste kiss to it. His touch lingers and the blush rises in her cheeks, as if she is 20 years old again. 

“I am a guest, good ser, I should be the one bowing to you.” Jaime rises, but does little to hide his impish smile. 

After the ceremony in the sept, there is a feast and dancing in the Rock’s grand hall. Jaime plays the charismatic host all evening, toasting to the bride and groom, and greeting those who have traveled great distances to attend. Brienne is pleased to see Tyrion sitting at the wedding table, engaged in conversation with Tommen and his new bride, a young woman from the Riverlands. 

A hand lands on her shoulder and she looks up into Jaime’s green eyes. “How are you enjoying your evening, Lady Brienne?” 

“They make a lovely couple,” she replies, nodding towards the head table. 

“They are both far too sweet, but I have tried to prepare Tommen as best I could.” He drops into the chair next to her. 

“I am sure he will make a fine husband.” She did not know the boy at all. 

“Oh, I am not worried about that. He is to be the Lord of Casterly Rock soon.” 

Brienne looks at him in surprise. “But you…” 

“I was happy to lead our men, but I was never interested in politics. He will learn from Tyrion all that he could not learn from me.” One of the kitchen staff appears at his side, handing him a wine goblet and refilling Brienne’s. “How is your lord husband?” 

“He is well.” She replies, struggling to tell him. “There was a girl, abandoned by her family. We have taken her on as a ward.” 

“Of course you have.” His tone is full of admiration. “What is her name?” 

Brienne’s eyes drift away from him towards the front of the hall. Tommen smiling, Tyrion laughing. “Alyse.” 

“And you are happy?” 

She can sense Jaime’s gaze on her, but only takes a sip of her wine. “What will you do, in your golden years?”

“I fear my golden years are well past me, my lady,” he laughs softly. “They happened before I became the man you first met.”

“Jaime, that’s not true.” She doesn't know how he still believes it of himself, after all this time. The man who sacrificed his reputation for the kingdom, who did not hesitate to do it again, to face his own sister’s atrocities and save the innocent, even if it cost him everything.

Brienne never told him she was the one who traveled south to take audience with the newly crowned Targaryen queen, to speak on his behalf, outlining all of his deeds, his sacrifices, to ask for his forgiveness. The young queen listened with a steely gaze, but Brienne found the justice she sought. 

“I would like no more than to go where no one can find me, a small cottage by the sea perhaps, but I will not stray far. Tommen has asked me to be an advisor on his small counsel.” 

Her advisors warned her against naming Alyse as the future Evenstar, but considering her inability to have children, she saw no other choice. Brienne felt as she had during her search for Sansa through the Crownlands. She had failed. Only this time, she failed her father and the long line of Tarths before her. “I am so very glad you got to be a father.” 

Tears shine in Jaime’s eyes, causing her own chin to wobble. He takes a swig of wine, wiping at his eyes with the back of his left hand. Standing, he offers his hand to her. “Will you dance with me, Lady Evenstar?” 

The heat in her cheeks cannot be blamed on the wine, but the way his green eyes sparkle at her. “You know I do not dance.” 

“If you are capable of sparring.” His voice dips low as he adds, “And you are _more_ than capable, then you will be a suitable dance partner.” He arches an eyebrow at her, waiting for an answer. 

Brienne scarcely danced at her own wedding, but she is utterly incapable of denying this man anything. As she allows him to lead her onto the floor, her gaze briefly meets Tyrion’s, who raises his glass and gives her a satisfied smirk. A pit grows in her stomach, wondering if everyone is watching, if she should have resisted him for once in her life. He holds her at a polite distance and something in his face makes her wonder if all the pretense, all the manners, are some kind of game to him. Had she simply forgotten how playful he could be? “How long will you stay?”

“Another day.” The journey is long and she has duties to attend to at home. 

“We’ve never had enough time.” His disposition darkens. As light and teasing as he can be, there is always a part of him she’s never been able to touch. A darkness he locked away and never shared fully with her. Then he would suddenly brighten and shake his head or roll his shoulders in his casual way. A smile would pull at the corners of his mouth and he would be there again. Jaime. “Perhaps you will be so good as to spar with me before you leave. Tommen never developed a taste for it and no one else wants to take on the Lord of Casterly Rock for fear of embarrassing him.” He edges closer to her, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “They don’t know I’m still the finest swordsman of my age.” 

Brienne laughs. “I see you’ve grown no less sure of yourself.” 

*

The weeks spent together in the cottage were blissful and terrifying at once. Pod and Hyle were able to move about freely, gathering food and supplies to bring them in the dead of night. The news they also brought was not good. The Lannister troops were combing the Riverlands on the Queen’s orders, looking for Ser Jaime and the woman with a scarred cheek.

She dreamed of Lady Stoneheart, he dreamed of darkness he would not speak of in the morning. They comforted each other, limbs entwining in the dark, a line of soft kisses along her neck, hands smoothing over scars and fading bruises. Sometimes Brienne would wake with Jaime pressed against her back, his soft breath on her neck, lying awake until his rhythmic breathing soothed her back to sleep. She began to know him in ways she never expected to know anyone. He was patient with her, reticent as she was to let him see her laid bare, to expose her heart to him. 

*

They spend the morning in the sparring yard, Jaime’s teasing and taunts unchanged, his laugh cracking out when she executes a clever move against him. He no longer wears his golden hand, but simply has the sleeves of his clothes sewed to conceal it. When they’re finished, Jaime cajoling her into a second match after she’d won the first, Brienne asks him about it. “You don’t wear your hand anymore?” 

He shakes his head. “No, it was heavy.” Then adds in a softer voice, “You never liked it.” 

She tucks her chin, gaze falling to her sword. The same one he’d given her years ago. “It did not bother me, but I never liked the marks it left on your skin.” She soothed it with her fingertips, with salves she asked Pod to find, with gentle kisses. Her face burns as she remembers, guilt knotting her stomach. 

*

The journey to the docks from Casterly Rock is not a short one, and on the morning of Brienne’s departure, Jaime accompanies her. 

“There is something I’ve wanted to say, my lady.” 

Brienne must not catch the seriousness in his eyes, as she replies lightly, “Has anything ever prevented you from saying what you wish?” 

“Hardly,” he admits readily, flashing a smile, though it feels forced. It is something he has wanted to admit for years, but the fragility between them made him hesitate, always unsure what he was to her now. “When I departed Wickenden....” he trails off. “My duty was divided.” Jaime did not have the words then, for how much she meant to him or how his decision tore him apart. “I had promised Lady Stark to find her daughters, but I could not forsake my own son.” 

Brienne is squinting against the sun as they walk, but her brow softens. “I know. You do not owe me an explanation.” 

“It’s not that.” At least not only an apology. “I want you to know… I should have brought Tommen North. It was a choice I wish I never had to make.” After he rescued Tommen, they were forced to remain in hiding for months, in fear of the new Targaryen reign.

They slow, her eyes traveling his face. He imagines her gaze as a touch. A hand on his cheek, fingertips soothing his furrowed brow, a thumb traveling the length of his nose. The way she used to comfort him when they were curled together. “You were safe. That’s all that matters.” 

As she moves forward, he reaches for her elbow. “You do not have to be so gallant, Brienne.” 

“I’m _not_.” She wrests her arm out of his grasp. “I wanted you to be alive and safe,” Brienne insists. “I wish-” Jaime swallows, waiting, but she shakes her head, ridding herself of the thought. “I understand why you did what you did.” 

They are nearing the docks now. “You may understand it, but do you forgive me?” 

After all these years, he prides himself on being able to read her, but the emotion which rises up in Brienne’s eyes only leaves him lost at sea. “There was never anything to forgive.” She presses a kiss to his cheek and Jaime catches a hint of the scent he remembers as hers, unchanged after all these years. 

*

As Dorne fights for its independence, Brienne is called to King’s Landing, along with other house leaders. She looks for Jaime among them, but Tyrion catches her eye across the giant table and shakes his head. Brienne’s eyelids are growing heavy when Queen Daenerys finally dismisses them. While the queen has granted independence to others in the past--to Sansa Stark and the North--Dorne presents a more volatile situation. The unrest has been going on for months and the Dornish have begun to block trade routes, making several House leaders reluctant to grant independence. 

The next morning there are more people on the counsel. They break in the afternoon, but Dany looks towards Brienne standing along the back wall. “Lady Evenstar, will you stay?” 

As calm as she may appear, trepidation fills her, afraid she has done something wrong. Other than her visit many years before, she hardly knows the queen at all. “Of course, your Grace.” Once the others have filed out of the room, the queen gestures for Brienne to take a seat. 

“I know the days are long, so I will have lunch brought here.” Daenerys is thoughtful, her violet eyes shining. “I wanted to propose an alliance. The situation in Dorne will most likely result in others wanting to declare independence, and I hope the leaders participating in these alliances will work directly with the people and allow them to set up their own communities peacefully, if that is what they choose. This will also allow us to ensure no place gets cut off from important resources or feels disrespected.”

Tarth is isolated enough that she always felt somewhat removed from the decisions being made in the capital. The queen seemed a fair enough ruler, emphasizing the destratification of class across the country, and her current proposal is one which appeals to Brienne. She always tried to work directly with those who lived on Tarth to fulfill their needs, but she was aware not all places had leaders who were willing to listen to the smallfolk, the merchants. “It is a reasonable proposal. What would it entail?” 

“I hope to unite east with west. For far too long, the Wardens of East and West have not worked together, but I hope in this case they will.” She gives Brienne an encouraging smile. There is a knock at the door. “You are free to enter,” Dany calls. 

Tyrion opens the door. “Your Grace, allow me to present the Lord of Casterly Rock, Jaime Lannister, my brother.” 

Jaime steps into the room, wearing the crimson and gold of House Lannister, Widow’s Wail dangling from his swordbelt. He looks much the same as he had at Tommen’s wedding, but his hair is even more grey than before. He bows to the Queen, but as he rises, his eyes fall to Brienne. A simpering smile pulls at his lips. “My lady,” he addresses her. “I did not expect to see you here.” 

“Nor I,” she admits, unable to look away from him as he rounds the table and takes a seat across from her. 

“You know each other?” The Queen asks, curious. “Of course,” she answers herself, a note of recognition in her voice. “Lady Brienne came to me shortly after I took my seat here to ask for my forgiveness on your behalf.”

Jaime looks as if he has choked on something. His eyes widen, and his gaze falls on her again. “What?” 

Brienne’s heart is pounding. She should have said something to stop the Queen, but did not think it polite to interrupt. “Yes,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. 

The Dragon Queen outlines her idea to Jaime. Brienne has scarcely recovered from the shock of his appearance. She isn’t focusing on Dany’s words, only on him, wondering why he’s here and why Tommen is not here in his stead, as Jaime planned. 

“I agree that it sounds reasonable. What do you think, Lady Evenstar?” His direct address startles her out of her fog. 

“Yes,” she clears her throat. “Um, it is not so different from what I already do, I suppose. Only there would be more responsibility. And coordination.” The food arrives and Brienne has never been so thankful for an interruption. 

“I do not need an answer today,” Daenerys informs them. “But I will take my leave so you may discuss it. Thank you for taking this under advisement,” she gives them a serene smile before she departs. 

*

That evening, Jaime knocks softly on Brienne’s door. They had scarcely spoken about the Queen’s proposition, using the brief time alone to discuss other things. He told her Tommen was not ready to lead. Brienne informed him of her husband’s death at the hands of Dornish freedom fighters. Yet another loss she had to bear, he thought. The world was cruel.

She opens the door only a crack. “Were you asleep? I thought we might take a walk.” He keeps his voice low, not wanting to disturb others.

“Give me a moment.” He hasn’t stopped thinking about what Daenerys said. Brienne had come to King’s Landing to speak on his behalf. Maybe what she told him at the Rock was true. There was never anything to forgive. She understood his choice to return to King’s Landing to rescue Tommen rather than remain with her. Yet it was a decision which tortured him all these years. 

Brienne steps out into the hallway dressed in a light blue tunic and dark trousers. Since azure is one of Tarth’s colors, he wonders how often she dresses in blue now. It always did bring out her eyes. They say little to each other as they move through the Keep. Jaime knows the grounds better than she, so he leads them towards the castle gardens, the bright moon shining overhead like a beacon for ships. “You came to make a case for me,” he finally speaks. 

A rush of wind through the trees makes him glance towards the horizon. A storm gathering out in Blackwater Bay. “Yes,” Brienne admits, just as she had earlier in the meeting with Daenerys. He opens his mouth to ask more, but she continues. “You could not live in hiding the rest of your life.” 

She is so sure in her answer, his knees grow weak. Brienne has always seen more good in him than he has ever recognized in himself. He does not know how her belief carries on when he has done nothing to earn it from her. 

He did not give Brienne the choice to travel to King’s Landing with him. Every step of the journey seemed too risky. Jaime imagined gangs of men seeking out the reward if they could find the Kingslayer and his “woman”, a term which made him bristle. They might be caught, Brienne taken away from him, handed over to his sister or worse. Even if they reached the capital undetected, his sister would take one look at him and know. His heart belonged to someone else and she would use it as a weakness. But once he found Tommen, he knew he could not leave without facing her. 

“All I wanted was for you to be safe,” she adds, her chin quivering. 

He guides her towards a bench, Brienne’s gaze focused on her lap. His pulse is pounding, but there is an urgency growing inside him, pushing him to tell her of the feelings he has locked away for years. “Brienne,” he says softly, hoping this will be enough to coax her to look at him. She raises her chin slowly. Her eyes hold a reticence, but they hold a yearning, too. “I loved you then.” She searches his face, her reserve softening, but still doubtful. “I love you still.” He longs to cup her cheek in his palm, but he continues to watch her, a slow light returning to her face. “I do not know if it is enough, but-”

She nods, unable to speak, but her hand covers his. He turns his wrist, opening his palm to her, reveling in how her fingers fit with his. “I love you,” she manages to reply, her voice thick with emotion. Jaime leans forward, capturing her lips with his. Brienne places her hand on his cheek, and as they break apart to smile at each other, her thumb brushes along his beard, before drawing him back to her for another kiss. “Jaime,” she sighs against his mouth. It is the most beautiful sound, after all this time. 

They stay tucked against each other, reluctant to move. Brienne reaches for his right arm and places it at her hip as if to say she accepts all of him. He drops a kiss to her shoulder to show his gratefulness. “I assume this is what the queen meant when she suggested an alliance.” The vibration of her laugh makes his lips buzz as he moves his mouth along her neck. His attention there makes her still under him, all except her fingers, which rifle through his hair, as soft as a breeze.

He cannot bear to let her go, now that he has her. Sneaking back to her room, they are cautious with another, but her touch ignites him like it always has. He coaxes soft sounds of pleasure from her, his name on her lips becomes a plea, a prayer. They move together as if no time has passed, as if they have been together in that cottage all these years. She presses against him afterwards, their legs tangling together. He runs his fingers through her hair until her breath grows even and heavy. “I will not leave you,” he whispers into the dark. 

*

Brienne wakes to Jaime’s soft snoring and his arm thrown over her hips. It is different than she ever thought it would be, their winding path back to each other. She never allowed the thought when she was married, but she only needed to look at her complicated history with Jaime to see it was inevitable. 

“Good morning, Lady Evenstar,” his gravelly voice murmurs in her ear, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. His hand strokes at her hip and she turns, rolling over to look at him. She marvels at his face, the same sharp jawline hidden under his beard, his eyes made all the more green by the white hair at his temples. A smile pulls at her cheeks. She has never felt such unbridled happiness. Such an undiluted feeling might normally result in her responding with restraint, but not today. 

“Good morning,” she replies, leaning forward to place a quick kiss on Jaime’s lips, but he holds her there, deepening the kiss. When they part, he is the one grinning like a fool. 

They had not talked much last night, they had another type of catching up to do, the thought of which makes Brienne blush as they sit together to break their fast. But this morning there are decisions to be made. “What are we going to say to the Queen?” She tears a piece of bread, passing the other half to him. 

Jaime spreads butter on it, before adding honey to the oats. “You wish to remain on Tarth?” 

When she first became Evenstar, she desired nothing more than flee to the North, the place which had come to feel as much a home to her as Evenfall, but now she cannot imagine being anywhere else. She nods. “Yes, for awhile yet, at least until Alyse is of age.” 

He gives her a soft smile. “You named her the heir?” Brienne nods. “Of course you did.” Jaime leans forward, brushing a kiss to her forehead. 

“But if you cannot leave the Rock…” she frowns.

He touches her knee. “I will pass it to my brother. I always thought he would make a much better Lord than I. Or it is Tommen’s if he wants it.” Jaime smirks, adding, “Or I do have a number of cousins whom I am sure would be happy with the title. Let them fight over it.” 

“Are you certain?” 

“I do not wish to be parted from you any longer, so yes, I am certain. We can inform Queen Daenerys that her alliance can proceed. Only perhaps not _quite_ the way she planned.” Brienne reaches up, brushing her thumb across his beard to wipe away a crumb. “What do you think, my lady?” He eyes her expectantly. 

“Yes,” she replies. A laugh bubbles up in Jaime’s throat, his hand reaching up to brush back her hair before he kisses her.


End file.
